Love & Separation
by CrazyKater
Summary: *Slash* One-shot. Starsky is injured, Hutch feels protective.


They should have never been separated.

That was the thought that consumed Hutch, as he rushed frantically into the ER.

Hutch didn't know anything about his partner's condition. It was courtesy call from dispatch that had notified him of Starsky's trip to the emergency room.

Hutch and his temporary partner, Rooks, had been staking out jewelry store, when the call come through. Hutch had taken one look at Rooks and demanded that they abandon their post for the hospital. He hadn't waited for a response, already peeling his beat up LTD away from the curb.

Hutch flashed his badge at the nurse's station and demanded to know where he could find Detective David Starsky. The nurse looked at him warily, before telling him that he could find his partner in triage number three. 

It was stupid of Dobey to think that they should be split up and temporarily partnered with rookie cops.

It was meant to look as a compliment. An indication that the pair had demonstrated enough competence and collaboration to be able to train rookies on how to function in a successful partnership.

But both Starsky and Hutch had known the truth from the very beginning. It was punishment for one too many investigations that had inadvertently turned into private parties.

Hutch had to give their superior officer credit, though. Enforcing punishment that seemed like it was somehow a reward for hard work: creative.

As he rounded the corner to the small hospital triage, the first thing Hutch saw was the blood.

Starsky's blue t-shirt was covered; what was left of it anyway. His denim blue jeans were torn in a few places and had blotches of blood all over them. Even his damn Adidas managed to be covered with blood, leaving them freckled and ruined.

Starsky's his face was scraped up. Bloody, red, and swollen. The left side of his body didn't look too great, either. His t-shirt was torn, the remaining fabric patchy and sticking into a bloody mess of cuts. Laying on the hospital bed, Starsky looked like he had tangled with a tiger and lost.

Hutch was, immediately, overwhelmed with fury, but walking to the side of the bed, he pushed those feelings down. He didn't notice that his temporary partner, Rooks had decided to linger in the doorway.

"Hey pal," Hutch said with a small smile; his hand finding its way to his partner's shoulder. 

Starsky looked to Hutch, and smiled. He was more than a little relieved to see his partner standing next to the bed.

"They didn't have to call you. I told them not to bother you," Starsky said. "This is nothing. Just some scratches." Starsky's words were filled with the robustness that was expected of a man in such a situation, but his hand reached out, and his fingers brushed against Hutch's arm, and at that moment, Hutch knew it was all talk; his partner had needed him there. 

Hutch met his partner's blue eyes. Finding them dull and glassy from pain medicine, Hutch's worry was only reinforced; doctors don't hand out pain medicine before treating wounds, unless something there was something to be concerned about.

"It looks like a little more than scratches to me," Hutch said softly. He fought the urge to lean and place a kiss on Starsky's head. "What happened?"

"Took a fall out a window. It's really ok. Some punk didn't like me questioning him. I'm fine, really," Starsky gave him a doped up grin.

"Where's the doctor?" Hutch asked, suddenly. "Why aren't there any nurses in here?"

"Pile up on the 45; they were needed elsewhere, and since he isn't terminal, they figured he could wait," A soft voice stated from behind them, and Hutch turned, breaking his physical contact with Starsky, to find another person in the room. 

Hutch's expression darkened as he recognized Damon, Starsky's temporary partner, who was hiding in the corner, and looking down uncomfortably.

"Where were you?" Hutch growled at the timid form.

Hutch thought he saw a flash of guilt flash across the young features, as Damon looked at him, but then quickly looked away.

"I was on the first story."

"The first story, huh?" Hutch asked, his voice dangerously quiet. "And what floor was Starsky on when he fell?"

"Seventh"

"SEVENTH?!" Hutch roared. "Are you FUCKING kidding me?"

XX

5 hours, 63 stitches, and one arm cast later, Starsky was finally discharged from the hospital. He was dozing in the passenger seat when Hutch parked his LTD in front of his apartment at Venice Place.

Hutch exited the car and went to collect Starsky from the other side. Opening the passenger door and leaning over the body inside, he gently touched his partner's undamaged shoulder.

"We're home babe," he whispered.

"Hmmm," Starsky drowsily mumbled, and pushed his head into Hutch's stomach, trying to snuggle in and return to sleep.

"Come on pal, let's get you inside and into bed," Hutch said softly.

Starsky groaned at the statement, but he allowed Hutch to slowly help him out of the car. 

"Can you walk, babe?" Hutch grunted, as found himself supporting all of his partner's dead weight.

Starsky only grunted, and then blinked his eyes; the pain medicine making him drowsy and completely unaware of what was going on.

Hutch sighed and resigned himself to carrying his friend.

The stairs leading up to the apartment were a problem, as they were too steep for Hutch to be able to carry Starsky up, without losing his balance. So, instead, Hutch propped Starsky in front of his own body, and found himself half pushing, half carrying his partner up the stairs.

He tried his best not to be too rough, but he cringed, just the same, when he heard Starsky let out a hiss of pain and a groan, as his newly acquired injuries objected to the random, tight movements.

"Come on, babe, help me out a little. Use your feet," Hutch prompted, and Starsky obliged with as much effort as he could muster. Which wasn't a lot, but it was enough to get them to the top.

It seemed like an eternity later, when Hutch finally negotiated the front door and heaved Starsky into the apartment.

"Okay, pal," he said, helping his friend into the bedroom.

Starsky sat deeply in the bed, letting out, yet, another groan. His forehead rested heavy against the Hutch's shoulder, as Hutch bent down to remove his partner's shoes and socks.

Hutch slowly leaned Starsky off of his shoulder, holding on to him until he was sure he was balanced. Starsky's head lulled drunkenly, and he blinked his eyes rapidly for a few moments, trying to become more alert, but then he gave up his efforts and shut his eyes completely.

"Arms," Hutch whispered as he pulled on the green scrub top that the hospital had sent Starsky home in, his own blue t-shirt too damaged to be salvaged. Hutch pulled the shirt up over Starsky's head and tossed it to the floor. He moved his hands lower, to unbuckle Starsky's belt and unbuttoned his jeans.

"Come on babe, I'm too tired tonight," Starsky complained in a slur.

Hutch smiled, "Sweetheart, believe me that is the _last _thing on my mind."

He gently pushed his partner down on the bed. Pulling at the legs of the dirty jeans and dropping them on the floor. He covered Starsky with the comforter and tucked him in tight, dropping a soft kiss on the dark curls. Starsky nestled his head into his pillow as Hutch bent to retrieve the filthy clothes that had been abandoned on the floor.

"Babe," Starsky said, sleepiness tugging at the words.

"Hmmm?"

"Hold me."

Hutch smiled at such a simple request. He quickly stripped to his boxers, and deposited the dirty clothes into the hamper, before joining his partner in bed.

Hutch pulled Starsky's warm body to his own and enveloped him into his arms, mindful of his partner's bandaged head and the bandages that covered the tender side. Starsky moved and placed his head on Hutch's chest, resting it deeply.

"Mm. Sorry," Starsky mumbled.

Hutch made a face. "What do you have to be sorry for?" He carded his fingers through his partner's hair.

"Donno. Worrying you. Letting that punk get one over on me. Ditching you for some pencil pushin nerd." Starsky let out a giggle at the last part of his apology. "Man, that guy is worth-less. Here I am taking the swan dive off some building, and do you know what he does when he finds me at the bottom?"

"Hmm," Hutch said; trying to hide his concern. He was trying to take comfort in that fact that beside the cuts and the bruises, his partner's sense of humor remained unscathed.

"Takes one look at the blood and he, passes the fuck out," Starsky said, giggling again. "Can you imagine that?!" Starsky's giggling turned into a deep chested laughter.

Hutch, smiled at the joke, but failed to see the humor in the situation.

"You sure scared him though," Starsky continued. "Man, kid just about shit a brick when you showed up, all fiery and shit. My hero."

"Yeah?" Hutch said, smiling. "Well, he fucked up."

"Well, he's a rookie. It's not really his fault, babe," Starsky answered, snuggling deeper into his partner's chest.

Hutch held Starsky tightly, and breathed deeply, trying to let the stress of the situation go. Starsky was safe. Maybe a little worse for wear, that much was true, but he'd be fine.

But even after a few deep breaths, Hutch still found himself needing to hold someone responsible. And if Starsky wouldn't let him blame Damon, then there really was only one person left.

This was all Dobey's fault.


End file.
